Watson And Holmes
by Write-Eat-Sleep-Repeat
Summary: (fem!Watson) Jolie Watson comes back from Afghanistan meets Sherlock Holmes, the world's first and only Consulting detective. The next day, she is dragged into a murder case. And ends up moving in with him. Are we to expect good news by the end of this story? Eventual Jo(hn)lock. Is being redone.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Constructive criticism is well received and I will take ideas/opinions into account.

The first case

"How's your blog going?" Ella says, making me nod a bit.  
"Yeah, good. Very good." I smile though it's obviously faked. The room is bland, greys and off whites that are meant to calm but they don't work at all. My fingers twirl my walking stick absently to distract myself.  
"You haven't written a word have you?" Ella says, picking her pen up to write down on the piece of paper on the clipboard.  
"You just wrote 'still has trust issues'." I say quickly, eyes flicking from the clipboard up to Ella's face. Ella looks at the board and then at me, sighing ever so slightly.  
"And you read my writing upside down." Ella crosses her legs and rests the pen on the board, leaning forwards a bit "You see what I mean? Jolie, you're a soldier." I huff out a laugh, this again "It's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you." I sigh and shake my head very slightly  
" **Nothing** happens to me."

It's later, when I'm limping through the park that I hear a half-familiar voice "Jolie. Jolie Watson." I turn around to see a little pudgy man walking over with a large smile. "Stamford, Mike Stamford."  
"Oh Mike. Yea, sorry. I didn't recognise you." I say with a small laugh and a smile, looking over my old friend and shaking his hand.  
"Yea I know, I got fat." He says and I shake my head a bit.  
"You don't look that different."  
"Have you got some time to sit and talk to an old friend?" Mike asks. I consider it for about three seconds before agreeing. I have literally nowhere to be and it's not like it'll change my life if I sat down and spoke to him, is it? As we sit, it's a bit awkward. I'm not that good at striking up conversations with people I haven't seen for ages, it's a social awkwardness that I've never fully gotten over. Thankfully, Mike is social enough for three people so he starts it up "Last I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?" I almost laugh, gesturing to my leg.  
"Got shot." I shrug "So, are you still at Bart's then?" I ask, taking a sip from my coffee.  
"Teaching now, yeah. Bright young things like we used to be. God I hate them." I laugh a bit, because it's the polite thing to do "What about you, just staying in town while you get yourself sorted?" I tut a bit before actually answering.  
"I can't afford London on an army pension." I look around at the park and all the noise.  
"Ah, you couldn't bear to be anywhere else." Mike nudges me like a teenage boy nudges his best friend, making me look at him and smile "That's not the Jolie Watson I know." My smile fades a bit and I look at my cup.  
"Yeah, well, I'm not that Jolie Watson." I say softly.  
"Couldn't Harry help?" I scoff a bit at the mention of my sister.  
"Yeah, that's gonna happen."  
"You could get a flat share." Mike shrugs and I laugh a bit.  
"Yea, who would want me as a flatmate?" Mike smiles and I give him a confused look "What'd I say?"  
"You're the second person to say that to me today." I tilt my head and move a bit so I'm properly facing him.  
"Who's the first?"

We end up back at St Bart's, where it all started for me. Mike leads me through the halls and we end up in a lab "It's a lot different from when I was last here." I say as I look around at the room full of technology. There's a tall black-haired man who gives us a quick glance before going back to whatever he was doing.  
"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" He says after a few seconds without looking up from the petri dish "There's no signal on mine." Mike sighs a bit as he goes to the table opposite the tall man.  
"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asks, leaning on the table.  
"I prefer to text." The man says. Mike pauses a bit before answering.  
"Sorry, it's in my coat." The tall man sighs ever so slightly as though he's frustrated.  
"Here, use mine." I take my phone out and offer it to the man, who looks half-shocked for a few seconds before walking over and taking the phone.  
"Oh, thank you." He smiles a bit.  
"She's an old friend of mine." Mike says with his ever present smile "Jolie Watson."  
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man says, making me look at him in shock. I look at Mike and he gives me a smug grin.  
"Sorry?" I turn slightly, no clue how he could even...  
"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?" I look back at Mike and then to the tall man.  
"Umm…A-Afghanistan. Sorry how did you-" The door opens and the man hands me my phone again, totally ignoring my unfinished question.  
"-Molly, Coffee. Thank you." A sweet looking woman, with her hair over one shoulder, gives the taller man the coffee cup. The taller man looks confusedly at her "What happened to the lipstick?"  
"It wasn't working for me." She says nervously and the tall man turns, going back to his experiment.  
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement." Molly's face falls "Mouth's too…small now."  
"Oh, ok." Molly walks off quickly and we're left in an awkward silence for a few seconds after the door closes.  
"How do you feel about the violin?" The taller man says, looking through the lens of a microscope.  
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, looking at him in confusion.  
"I play the violin when I'm thinking; sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" He looks at me "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." I blink a few times in confusion.  
"Are you-? You told him about me?" I look at Mike and he shakes his head, that same smile stuck on his face.  
"Not a word." He replies, making me look back to the tall man.  
"Then who said anything about flatmates?"  
"I did." The man grabs his coat and pulls it on "I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just out to lunch with an old friend. Clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap." He starts walking towards the door, walking straight past me.  
"Yea, how did you know about that?" He ignores my question again, which is incredibly infuriating.  
"I've got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock." He gets to the door and pulls it open "Sorry got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."  
"Is that it?" I ask.  
"Is that what?" He turns back to me with a confused look.  
"We've only just met, and we're going to look at a flat." I say.  
"Problem?" I almost give him a 'WTF' look but I manage to hide it.  
"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name." The tall man closes the door and steps towards me again.  
"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He steps out but pokes his head back into the room to talk to me "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winks and starts walking out again "Afternoon." I look back to Mike and give him a look, to which he just nods at.  
"Yeah, he's always like that." I run my hand through my too-short hair and sigh, while Mike is just grinning.  
"That guy?" I ask and Mike nods once "He doesn't seem like a people person."  
"Neither do you." Ok, he has a point there.

When I get to the measly excuse for accommodation that I have, I get my phone out to see that Sherlock had sent. _If brother has yellow ladder, arrest brother.-SH_ I exhale a small laugh at the ridiculous text and put my phone away. I go on my laptop and search 'Sherlock Holmes', just to see who I'll be up against, and I find a blog. The Science of Deduction. Intrigued, I click on the link and a very sophisticated looking page pops up. It's a ridiculous read. He's apparently a genius, can find out anything about anyone, which explains the 'Afghanistan or Iraq' question, but the rest is almost impossible. It's half-funny and not too tragic. Just by his blog you can tell he's not that social, there are a lot of messages that insult him, poor guy.

The next day, I'm at the doorstep of 221 Baker Street, as Sherlock said. The curly-haired man steps out of a taxi and I take two steps towards him "Hello." He says politely, holding his hand out.  
"Mr Holmes." I shake his hand and give him a small smile.  
"Sherlock, please." I nod a bit and we wait at the door as Sherlock knocks.  
"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." I say, looking around.  
"Mrs Hudson, the landlady, is giving me a special deal. She owes me a favour. A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help her out."  
"So you stopped her husband from being executed?"  
"Oh no." He says, looking at me and smiling a bit "I ensured it." At that moment, the door opens and a sweet-looking elderly woman hugs Sherlock before I can give him a weird look.  
"Sherlock." She says happily, moving away and gesturing subtly to me as a question to Sherlock.  
"Oh, Mrs Hudson, this is Dr Jolie Watson." Sherlock says as I shake Mrs Hudson's hand.  
"Come in" Mrs Hudson smiles and walks into the house.  
"Shall we?" Sherlock says, and I step in first with him after me. He's first on the stairs because I don't want to annoy him with the slow pace I have thanks to my _damn_ leg. The place is actually nice, if a bit cluttered, but it looks very…homey.  
"This could be very nice." I mutter as I look around "Very nice indeed." Sherlock nods.  
"Yes, yes I think so. My thoughts precisely" He agrees with a small smile.  
"As soon as we have this rubbish cleared up." I say at the same time as Sherlock saying 'So I moved in…' Sherlock pauses and I can see the tension.  
"Obviously I could straighten things up a bit." Sherlock says, picking up a few things.  
"No, it's ok. It's just a bit messed up." I say "I didn't know…"  
"It's fine. I can be a bit disorganised." I run a hand over my face and groan ever so slightly. When I open my eyes, they fix on a thing on the mantel.  
"That's a skull." I say, pointing my stick ever so slightly towards the skull on the mantel. Sherlock looks at it and nods.  
"Friend of mine. Well, I say friend…" Mrs Hudson walks in at that moment and smiles at me.  
"What d'you think then, Dr. Watson?" She says and I nod "There's another bedroom upstairs…if you'll need two bedrooms." I give her a confused look.  
"Of course we'll need two." I say, tilting my head a bit. Mrs Hudson nods and turns, looking into the kitchen and tutting at the scientific equipment on the table.  
"Sherlock, the mess you've made" She says, like a disappointed mother. Sherlock starts tapping at his laptop, on a desk that is very cluttered.  
"I looked you up on the internet last night." I say, which is probably a weird thing to say but Sherlock doesn't look too creeped out.  
"Anything interesting?" He asks as I sit down, looking at me half-expectantly.  
"Found your website. 'The science of deduction'." Sherlock smiles like a child proud of a drawing he's done.  
"What did you think?" I sigh a bit and his expression goes to slight confusion and worry.  
"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb?" Just two of the most bizarre things that were there. Sherlock nods once.  
"Yes. And I could read your military career in your face and your leg and your brother's drinking habits in your phone" He's either showing off, or he's always like this. I can't tell.  
"How?" He just walks to the window and ignores me. Mrs Hudson walks in and looks at the newspaper on the footrest.  
"What about these suicides Sherlock?" She says "Thought it'd be right up your street. Three, exactly the same."  
"Four." Sherlock says, still looking out of the window "There's been a fourth. Something's different this time."  
"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson asks, standing up. There are footsteps up the stairs and someone walks in, making Sherlock turn.  
"Where?" Sherlock says instantly, not even asking what it is.  
"Lauriston gardens." The salt-and-pepper-haired man says. He's wearing a long coat and a scarf and he looks kinda familiar.  
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."  
"You know how they never leave notes?" The other man says and Sherlock nods "This one did. Can you come?"  
"Who's on forensics?"  
"Anderson" Sherlock sighs and looks away.  
"Anderson won't work with me." He says.  
"He won't be your assistant"  
"I _need_ an assistant." Sherlock says slightly forcefully  
"Will you come?" The guy sighs a bit and Sherlock nods a bit.  
"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."  
"Thank you" The man walks off downstairs and when the door closes, Sherlock jumps up and does a mid-air spin with a huge smile on his face.  
"Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas. Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." I don't think that's the normal reaction to four deaths. I can't be certain but I'm pretty sure.  
"I'm your landlady dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson sighs as she's tidying up very minimally.  
"Something cold will do." Sherlock gets his coat on and looks at me "Jolie, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up." I watch as he walks out quickly. Mrs Hudson comes over and sighs as Sherlock walks out.  
"Look at him, dashing about. My husband was just the same. But you're more of the 'sitting down' type, I can tell" She smiles at me and I try not to make her notice my weird look "I'll make some tea, you just rest your leg." At the mention of the wound, I almost slam my walking stick onto the floor.  
"Damn my leg." Mrs Hudson jumps in shock and I quickly turn to her "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just a sensitive thing. I'm…"  
"It's fine dear." Mrs Hudson says, tapping me on the shoulder comfortingly and going to go downstairs.  
"You're a doctor. In fact you're an army doctor." Sherlock says which surprises me as I look at him.  
"Yes." I stand up when he steps forwards a few times.  
"Any good?"  
"Very good" I reply without looking away from him.  
"Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths."  
"Well, Yes."  
"Bit of trouble too I bet." I nod a few times.  
"Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."  
There's a slight pause before Sherlock says "Wanna see some more?"  
"Oh god yes." I say instantly, following after him the second he turns and leaves, grabbing my coat.  
"Possible suicides." Sherlock says when he gets fully downstairs "Four of them. There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He looks so excited. Mrs Hudson sighs and shakes her head.  
"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Sherlock has a large smile on his face and he starts walking out.  
"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" I close the door after leaving and get in the cab that Sherlock hails.

We're quiet for a bit, me looking out of the window and Sherlock on his phone, until Sherlock speaks "Ok, you've got questions."  
"Yea, where are we going?" I say a bit too excitedly, and is that a small smile I see on Sherlock's face?  
"Crime scene. Next." Oh thanks, that answer wasn't vague.  
"Who are you? What do you do?" Sherlock looks away from his phone and looks at me.  
"What do you think?"  
"Well, I'd say private detective..." I say and Sherlock actually smiles a bit.  
"But?"  
"The police don't go to private detectives."  
"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." He looks quite proud, smug, that he made up a job like a child.  
"And that means?"  
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."  
"Police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock lowers his phone and looks at me.  
"When I met you for the first time, yesterday, I asked Afghanistan or Iraq, you looked surprised."  
"Yes, how did you know?" I ask with slightly narrowed eyes.  
"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists, you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic, wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq." I wait a second, absorbing all that for a bit as it's a bit overwhelming to get that much.  
"You said I had a therapist." I say.  
"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist." I nod slightly, that's a bit obvious "Then there's your brother." Sherlock holds his hand out and I give him my phone "Your phone, it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're looking for a flat-share; you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches, not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The woman sitting next to me wouldn't treat her one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already."  
"Engraving on the back." I say, which makes Sherlock nod. The engraving says 'To Harry, From Clara. Xxx.'  
"Harry Watson, clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses say a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then, six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it, he left her. He gave the phone to you, which says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. You don't like his drinking." He has a gleam in his eyes, like he's trying to impress me or something.  
"How do you know about the drinking?"  
"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection, tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see?" He hands me my phone back and it put it back in my pocket "You were right."  
"R-Right about what?" I ask. He looks at me with a smug smirk.  
"Police don't consult amateurs." My mouth is open in a small 'o' and I laugh ever so slightly as I look forwards.  
"That was...bloody amazing." I say.  
"You think so?" Sherlock sounds half-shocked.  
"Of course, it's extraordinary."  
"That's not what people normally say"  
"What do they say?" I look at him. I mean, it is pretty amazing.  
"Piss off." I laugh.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asks when we get out of the taxi.  
"Harry and I don't get on." I say as we walk "Never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago, and they're getting a divorce. And Harry **is** a drinker." Sherlock smiles and nods a bit.  
"Spot on then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." I smile a bit and look at him.  
"Harry is short for Harriet." Sherlock sighs and groans ever so slightly.  
"Sister. There's always one thing." A woman with a curled afro-like hairdo walks over, near the police tape.  
"Hello freak." She says and my eyebrows raise at the unnecicary insult.  
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."  
"Why?"  
"I was invited."  
"Why?"  
"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock says, treating her like an idiot. She probably is if you compare her to him.  
"You know what I think don't you?" The woman smiles, crosses her arms and Sherlock goes under the tape.  
"Always, Sally." Sherlock pauses for a second "You didn't make it home last night." Sally seems shocked for a bit and Sherlock uses that time to lift the tape for me to walk under.  
"Uh, Who's this?" Sally says, snapping out of her reverie and stopping me passing.  
"A colleague of mine, Dr Watson." Sherlock says "Dr Jolie Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. An old friend." Sally laughs a bit.  
"Colleague, how do you get a colleague?" She looks at me "Did he follow you home?"  
"I think I'd be better if I just waited-" I say, but Sherlock interrupts.

"-No." After a few seconds of hesetation and a look of 'why get me invoved' to Sherlock, I walk under the tape as Sherlock holds it up and I follow him to a man who gives him a very dirty look "Anderson, here we are again."  
"It's a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Anderson says and Sherlock smiles obnoxiously.  
"Quite clear. Is your wife away for long?" I look at him confusedly.  
"Oh don't pretend you worked that out! Somebody told you"  
"Your deodorant told me that." Ok, round 2 of scary deductions and…GO!  
"My deodorant." Anderson says with a confused look.  
"It's for men."  
"Well of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"  
"So is Sergeant Donovan." I cover my mouth a bit to make sure I don't laugh "Ooh... I think it just vaporised. May I go in?" Sherlock walks past Anderson and the smaller man turns to look at him.  
"Now look, whatever you're implying..."  
"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floor, going by the state of her knees." I look at Sally's knees, which are filthy, and then give her and Anderson looks before walking into the house behind Sherlock.  
"Well, I can safely say that your friendship with them two isn't going to get any better." I say as I catch up with him, a small laugh bubbling up in my throat.  
"It couldn't get any worse." Holmes smirks a bit and hands me a coverall "Put this on"  
"Who's this?" Someone I assume is Lestrade gestures to me.  
"She's with me." Sherlock says.  
"Who _is_ she?"  
"She's with me." Sherlock repeats, which makes Lestrade drop the subject "Where are we?  
"Upstairs." Lestrade says "I can give you two minutes."  
"May need longer." We walk up the stairs, me behind as per.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards." Lestrade says as we enter the room "We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long, some kids found her." In the middle of the room is a woman wearing pink, face down and obviously dead. There's silence for a bit until Sherlock breaks it.  
"Shut up." He says to Lestrade.  
"I didn't say anything." Lestrade says defensively.  
"You were thinking. It's annoying." Me and Lestrade share a look as Sherlock steps slowly forward until he reaches the side of the corpse. He squats down beside her and runs his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifts his hand again to look at his finger. He reaches into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. After a few more seconds, he stands up.  
"Got anything?" Lestrade said and Sherlock sighed a bit.  
"Not much."  
"She's German." Anderson decides to speak up from where he's leant against the doorway casually "'Rache', it's German for revenge, she could be trying to tell us something." As he's been talking, Sherlock's been walking closer and I step out of the way.  
"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock closes the door on Anderson, looking at his phone.  
"So she's German." Lestrade says.  
"Of course she's not; she's from out of town though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning to Cardiff. So far, so obvious." He puts his phone away.  
"Sorry. Obvious?" I ask, though it gets ignored when Lestrade speaks.  
"What about the message?" The DI says. Sherlock turns and looks at me.  
"Dr Watson, what do you think?"  
"About the body?" I ask and Sherlock nods.  
"Uh, we have a whole team outside." Lestrade says before I can continue talking.  
"They won't work with me" Sherlock dismisses it with a wave of his hand.  
"I'm breaking every rule letting **you** in here." He says sternly to Sherlock.  
"Yes. Because you need me." Lestrade sighs and lowers his head.  
"Yes I do. God help me."  
"Dr Watson?" Sherlock says and I look to Lestrade for permission. Lestrade sighs heavily and nods.  
"Do what he says, help yourself." He goes to the door and leaves "Anderson, keep everyone out of here for a bit." Sherlock goes to the body and kneels down; I follow after and ignore my injury screaming at me for kneeling down.  
"Well?" Sherlock says.  
"Ok. What am I doing here?" I say softly.  
"Helping me make a point."  
"I'm _supposed_ to be helping you pay the rent."  
"Yeah well this is more fun."  
"Fun? This is fun? There's a woman lying dead"  
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." I shoot him a look and start inspecting the body when the door opens again and Lestrade stands in the doorway.  
"Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs." I shrug a bit.  
"You know what it was, you've read the papers." Sherlock smirks a bit and I look between Sherlock and the body a few times.  
"What? She's one of the suicides?" I ask.  
"Sherlock, two minutes I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade says and Sherlock gets up while I struggle but eventually do.  
"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." I look around but there's no suitcase.  
"Suitcase?" Lestrade voices my own thoughts.  
"Yes." And then he discards that part "She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married." Lestrade sighs heavily.  
"If you're making this up…"  
"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."  
"That's brilliant." I say. Sherlock turns and looks at me and I bow my head "Sorry." I mutter weakly.  
"Cardiff?" Lestrade asks, diverting attention to him again  
"It's obvious."  
"Not to me." I say confusedly.  
"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He turns back to the body "Her coat, it's slightly damp, she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours, no rain in London at that period of time, under her coat collar is damp to, and she's put it up against the wind. She has an umbrella in her pocket but it's dry and unused, not just wind, strong wind. Too strong to use an umbrella. from her suitcase, she was intending to stay overnight so she must have travelled a decent distance but she can't have travelled for more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried, so where has there been rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff"  
"That's fantastic." I say as an almost sigh, a slight smile on my face.  
"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock says in a low voice  
"I'll shut up." I say apologetically, though Sherlock doesn't seem to mind.  
"Don't. It-It's fine."  
"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade says, the look on his face being 'utter confusion'. Sherlock turns in a circle to look around the room.  
"Where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser, find out who 'Rachel' is"  
"She was writing 'Rachel'?"  
"No! She was writing an angry note in German! Of course she was writing 'Rachel'. No other word it can be. Question is why wait till she was dying to write it?"  
"How do you know she had a suitcase?"  
"Back of her right leg, splash marks on the calf and heel, not present on the left. She was pulling a wheel suitcase with her right hand; don't get that splash-back in any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious, could only be an overnight bag. What have you done with it?" He was crouched next to the body.  
"There was no case." Lestrade says, making Sherlock pause slightly.  
"Say that again."  
"There wasn't a case, there was never any case." Sherlock gets up and rushes out.  
"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Me and Lestrade go out to the landing and lean over the railing.  
"There was no case!" Lestrade repeats.  
"They take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves. Clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." Slowing but not stopping his decent down the stairs, he carries on speaking.  
"Right, yea, thanks. And?"  
"It's murder, all of them, I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings, serial killings." He looks like an excited kid on Christmas "We've got ourselves a serial killer. Love those, there's always something to look forward to."  
"Why are you saying that?" Sherlock ignored Lestrade and called out.  
"Her case. C'mon! Where is her case, did she eat it? Someone else was here and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car." By the end of it, he was talking as though he was talking more to himself.  
"She could have checked into a hotel and left her case there." I called down.  
"No, she never got to the hotel, look at her hair, she colour co-ordinates her lipstick and her shoes, she'd never leave any hotel with her hair still looking..." He pauses in realisation "Oh." His eyes widen and his face lights up "Oh." He claps his hands and I look confusedly at him.  
"Sherlock?!" I call down confusedly.  
"What is it? What?"  
"Serial killers are always hard; you've got to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock smiles slightly.  
"We can't wait!" Lestrade almost groans in frustration.  
"We're done waiting, look at her, really look." He says as he hurries down the stairs "Houston, we have a mistake. Get onto Cardiff; find out that Jenifer Wilson's family and friends were, finding out who Rachel is."  
"Of course but what's the mistake?"  
"PINK!" Sherlock runs off and Lestrade, Anderson and the rest of the team go back into the room, leaving me alone and forgotten. I hesitate a bit before going downstairs and removing the coverall.

As I walk out, there's no sign of Sherlock at all. I look around and Sally starts talking to me, seeing that I was looking for Sherlock "He's gone."  
"What?" I ask in a polite tone, turning to look at her.  
"He just took off, he does that." Then she turns away slightly and I look around before sighing softly.  
"You know where I can get a cab? It's just…" I gesture to my walking stick "My leg."  
"Try the main road" Sally says as she lifts the tape for me. I duck under and smile politely at her when I'm upright.  
"Thanks"  
"You're not his friend." She says suddenly, making me turn to her "He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"  
"I…only just met him." I shrug a bit with a nervous smile..  
"Okay, bit of advice then. Stay away from that guy."  
"Why should I?" I say, giving her a confused look.  
"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there."  
"He wouldn't. Why would he?"  
"Because he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored." My face falls slightly in confusion. I get he's a bit unorthadox but this kind of verbal abuse doesn't seem justified at all.  
"Donovan!" Lestrade calls from the house and Sally turns.  
"Coming!" She walks off, calling back to me "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

As I start walking, phones in phone boxes start ringing. I shrug it off and try to hail a taxi but it passes by me. I pass by a fast food place and the payphone starts to ring but stops when an employee tries to pick it up. A few seconds later another phone box rings and, confused, I go and pick it up "Hello?" I say confusedly, and a man's voice comes through.  
"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?"  
"Umm, who is this?" I frown.  
"Do you see the camera, Dr Watson?" He says forcefully and I look to the left.  
"Yea, I see it." I say.  
"Watch." The camera turned away from the phone box "There is another camera on the building opposite, do you see it?" I look and make an affirmative noise. The camera swivels away "and finally on top of the building to your right." The third camera turns.  
"How are you doing this?" I ask instantly.  
"Get into the car, Dr Watson." The man says as a black car pulls up on the curbside near the phone and the male driver opens the rear door "I would make a vague threat, but I'm sure the situation is clear to you" Then the person hangs up. I hesitate before getting out of the phone box and walking to the car. I sit next to the only person in the car, a black-haired woman who ignores me in favour of typing on her phone.  
"Hi." I say, just to break the silence. The woman looks at me with a smile.  
"Hi." She looks back at her phone.  
"What's your name then?"  
"Umm… Anthea." She says with a slight smile.  
"That's not your real name."  
"Nope."  
"Ok." I say, looking out of the window before turning back to her "Any point in asking where I'm going?" Not-Anthea shakes her head.  
"No."  
"Ok." I sigh.

The warehouse that the car pulls into is almost empty, with only a chair and a man in a suit who's leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella. He has a pointed nose, very sharp features and he's just as tall and thin as Sherlock. He gestures to the chair with his umbrella as I limp over "Have a seat, Jolie."  
"You know, I've got a phone." I say, ignoring him "I mean, very clever and all that. But, ah, you could just phone me. On my phone." I walk right past that chair and stop just a few steps in front of the tall man.  
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet. Hence this place." He gestures to the warehouse "Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down."  
"I'm fine." The tall man looks curiously at me.  
"You're not afraid."  
"You're not very frightening." I smile a bit, though it's an annoyed one.  
"Yes. The bravery of the soldier." The man chuckles "Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He suddenly looks sternly at me and his tone changes "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"  
"I don't really have one. I met him…" I think for a second "Yesterday." Wow, was it really only yesterday? Seems a lot longer than that.  
"Hm." He says thoughtfully "And since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"  
"Who the hell are you?" I ask as kindly as I can muster.  
"An interested Party."  
"Interested in Sherlock?" I ask, almost a laugh in my voice "Why? You aren't friends"  
"I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."  
"That is?"  
"An enemy." I pause a bit and give him a look.  
"Really?"  
"In his mind certainly. If you were to ask him he'd probably say his archenemy. He does love to be dramatic." I look around at the warehouse, almost laughing at the irony.  
"Well." I say sarcastically "Thank god you're above all that" The man frowns and I count that as Victory number one. My phone trills and I take it out instantly.

 _Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH_

"I hope I'm not distracting you." The man says, trying to peer at the message.  
"Not in the slightest." I look up at the phone after a bit and put it in my pocket with a forced smile.  
"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"  
"Maybe. But then again, that's none of your business, is it?"  
"It could be."  
"Not really" I shake my head, slightly amused at how dramatic the whole thing is.  
"If you do move into um..." The man takes out a notebook "Two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."  
"Why?" I ask as he puts the notebook away.  
"Because you aren't exactly wealthy."  
"What would it be in exchange for? Because I do have limits."  
"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel...uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."  
"Why?"  
"I worry about him, that's why."  
"Oh, how sweet." I say insincerely, tilting my head to the side a bit.  
"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a...difficult relationship."  
"I can't imagine why." I mutter as my phone trills again. There's another text and I immediately read it.

 _If inconvenient, come anyway. SH_

"No." I say, in reference to his offer  
"I haven't mentioned a figure." He says in an almost shocked voice.  
"Don't have to." I say as I pocket my phone  
"You're quick to trust."  
"I'm not interested." The man looks closely at me for a bit before taking out his notebook again.  
"Trust issues, it says here." For the first time since meeting him, I'm actually a bit worried.  
"What's that?" I try to look at it.  
"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?" I laugh ever so slightly, just less than a second.  
"Who says I trust him?"  
"You don't seem the type to make friends."  
"Are we done?" I ask, sort of impatient and wanting to not even think about a proper reply.  
"Your choice." The man said, looking directly into my eyes. I turn and start to walk off "I imagine people have already told you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that it isn't true." I stop instantly and tense. This dude is really pissing me off now.  
"What?" I ask, turning to glare at him.  
"Show me." The man says calmly. He nods towards my left hand as he speaks and leans against his umbrella; the tip was which is planted against the floor. He's looking at me expectantly, like he thinks I'll obey. I look at my left hand, which isn't trembling, and I stay where I am. The man walks over, hooking the handle of his umbrella over his arm, and reaches for my hand.  
"Don't." I say tensely. He gives me a 'What was it about trust issues?' look and I hold my hand out flat. The man takes my hand in both of his and looks closely at it.  
"Remarkable." I snatch my hand out of his grip.  
"What?" The man turns and walks a few paces away.  
"Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield." He turns to look at me again "You've seen it already. Haven't you, Jolie?"  
"What's wrong with my hand?" I ask defensively.  
"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." I nod once "Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service." I give him a look, wondering how he knows all this.  
"Who are you? How do you know that?"  
"Fire her." The man ignores my questions "She's got it the wrong way 'round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." I look at my hand before looking back forwards "You're not haunted by the war, Dr Watson…You miss it." The man leans too close to me. I look at him as he whispers "Welcome back." He turns and starts to walk away. My phone goes again "Time to choose a side, Jolie." I stay on the spot until I finally look at the departing man. Not-Anthea walks out of the car.  
"I have to take you home." She calls. I half turn to look at her and then look at my phone.

 _Could be dangerous. SH_

I hold my hand out in front of me and smile at the lack of the tremor before I turn and go towards Not-Anthea "Address?" She asks.  
"Umm…Baker Street. 221 Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."

After going to my pitiful bedsit for a second to collect something, I arrive at Baker Street in the man's black car "Listen." I say before getting out "Any chance that you don't tell your boss that I asked to come here?"  
"Sure." Not-Anthea says. I pause a bit and sigh.  
"You already told him." I say and Not-Anthea nods. I sigh again and leave the car "Okay." I mutter "That's fine."  
"Bye." Anthea calls.  
"See ya." I say, going to the door of 221b and knocking. Mrs Hudson answers and smiles kindly at me.  
"Hello Jolie." She says, stepping aside to let me in  
"Hey Mrs Hudson." I smile and step in.  
"Sherlock's just upstairs." I nod as a 'thank you'.  
"Thanks." I say as I start going upstairs.

As I enter the flat, I see Sherlock lying stretched out on the sofa with his head towards the window and resting on a cushion and his eyes closed "What are you doing?"  
"Nicotine patch helps me think." He lifts his right hand and shows that he has the nicotine patches on his arm "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork."  
"But good for breathing." I say with a smile.  
"Breathing's boring." I mutter 'ok' very quietly then realise something.  
"Three patches?"  
"It's a three patch problem."  
"You asked me to come here. I guess it's important." Sherlock doesn't respond instantly but his eyes snap open after a bit.  
"Can I borrow your phone? I don't want to use mine. The number might be recognised."  
"Mrs Hudson has a phone." I point out.  
"She was downstairs and didn't hear me shouting."  
"I was on the other side of London." I say moodily.  
"There was no rush." I glare at Sherlock, who doen't even look at me, and sigh as the taller closes his eyes. I take my phone out and hold it out.  
"Here." I put it in Sherlock's hand.  
"Good girl." I glare at him but he isn't looking.  
"Is it about the case?"  
"Her case."  
" _Her_ case?" I sigh, rubbing my eyes a bit.  
"Yes, murderer took her suitcase, first mistake. Watson, the number on my desk, send a text."  
"wh... Fine." I sigh and grab my phone from him.  
"Good girl."  
"And stop saying that!" I say as I go to the window other than the table to check if anyone is outside.  
"What's wrong?" Sherlock tilts his head towards me.  
"I just met a friend of yours."  
"Friend?" He looks a bit worried as I say it.  
"Enemy, I meant enemy"  
"Oh." He said, relaxing "Which one?"  
"Arch-enemy, according to him." I look at him confusedly "Do people even have arch-enemies?"  
"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"  
"Yes and I didn't take it."  
"Pity, we could have split it. Think it through next time."  
"Who is he?"  
"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now." He says softly "Desk, number, now." I glare at him before walking to the desk and picking up the paper.  
"Jennifer Wilson? The dead woman!" I look at him and he just closes his eyes again.  
"Yes. Not important. Are you doing it?"  
"Yes." I say, typing quickly.  
"Have you done it?"  
"Yes."  
"Put these words exactly: what happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Have you sent it?"  
"Wait a bit." I say with a sigh, sending when it was done. Sherlock unzips a pink case and opens the lip quickly "Is that her case?"  
"Yes, obviously." Then he looks at me and sighs heavily "Oh, perhaps I should mention I didn't kill her." I sigh and roll my eyes.  
"I know."  
"Really? Given the text I just had you send and the face that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." I sit on the chair across from him.  
"Do people normally think you're the murderer?" I ask, leaning forwards. Sherlock smirks.  
"Now and again." He puts his hands on the arms of the armchair and lifts his feet up and under him so he's perched on the seat.  
"Ok. How did you get this?"  
"By looking."  
"Anywhere specific?" I ask.  
"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip." My jaw drops ever so slightly.  
"Pink. You got all that, because you thought the case would be _pink_?"  
"Well, it had to be pink."  
"Why didn't I think of that?" I mutter softly.  
"Because you're not a stereotypical woman, obsessed with her appearance, you don't think like Jennifer. And you're an idiot." I give him a look "Don't be like that. Practically everyone is." He suddenly points to the case "So you see what's missing?"  
"Her phone." I say after a second or two "She's a serial cheat so she'd be careful and never leave her phone at home."  
"Good." Sherlock smiles as I look at the phone and then back to Sherlock.  
"The murderer has her phone, I just texted a murder!"

The phone rings and both of us look at it. I look at Sherlock and he's still looking at the phone.  
"Three hours since his last victim and he receives a text that can only be from her. If someone had found that phone they'd ignore a text like that. But the murderer." He pauses dramatically until the phone stopped ringing "Would panic." He closes the suitcase and stands up, walking across the room and putting his jacket on.  
"Have you told the police?" I ask, looking at him.  
"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police"  
"You were talking to me." I point out in confusion.  
"Mrs Hudson took my skull." He looks almost mournfully at the space on the fireplace.  
"I'm filling in for a **skull**?" I ask.  
"Relax, you're doing great." He smirks.  
"I'm coming with you."  
"Good. I like company and I think better when I talk aloud. It's weird when I go with the skull, it just attracts attention." I stand up, with slight difficulty.  
"I bet it does." I smile.  
"Problem?" He says as though looking straight through me.  
"Yea. Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock looks away exasperatedly.  
"What about her?"  
"She says you get off on this." Sherlock smiles a bit and looks at me.  
"And I said 'dangerous'. And here you are." Sherlock instantly walks out and I follow as fast as I can.

I catch up with him not long after and we walk down "Where we going?"  
"Northumberland Street's a five minute walk from here."  
"You think he's actually going to go there?"  
"Yes, he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones; they're always so desperate to get caught."  
"Why?"  
"Attention. Applause. At long last, the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, Jolie. It needs an audience."  
"Yea?" I say, a small smile on my face at the irony and his obliviousness of said irony.  
"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." He holds his hands up on either side of his head "Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"  
"Who?" I ask when he doesn't carry on.  
"No clue." Sherlock smiles, lowering his hands "Hungry?" I nod and Sherlock leads me into a small restaurant. A waiter near the door gestures to a reserved table at the front window "Thank you Billy." He says to the waiter, taking his coat off and sitting on the bench seat while turning sideways so he can see out of the window. I sit down on the other side and look at the building Sherlock gestures to "22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." I nod and a man comes over, obviously pleased to see Sherlock.  
"Sherlock, anything on the menu, free for you and your date."  
"I'm not his date." I say.  
"He got me off a murder charge."  
"This is Angelo." I shake Angelo's hand and smile kindly "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."  
"He cleared my name."  
"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?"  
"Nothing." Angelo looks back to me "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."  
"You **did** go to prison." Sherlock says without looking away from the window.  
"I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic." I sigh as Angelo walks off.  
"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Angelo comes back with a small glass bowl containing a lit candle. He puts it on the table and does a thumbs-up to me. I smile a bit and do double thumbs up back that are obviously full of sarcasm

"People don't have arch enemies." I say afterwards, when I have some food.  
"What?" Sherlock says with a slight delay.  
"In real life." I say, swallowing my food "Nobody has arch enemies, it doesn't happen."  
"That's dull."  
"Who did I meet?"  
"What do people have? In their 'real lives'?" I shrug a bit, cutting up more of the food.  
"Friends, people they know, people they like, dislike. Boyfriends, girlfriends. That stuff."  
"Dull." I put my cutlery down as I look at him.  
"So you don't have a girlfriend?" He looks at me breifly and I shrug a 'Just curious' before he looks away again.  
"No."  
"Boyfriend?" Sherlock gives me a look "Which is fine." I add quickly.  
"I know it's fine." Sherlock says.  
"So, you have a boy-"  
"-No. No-one." Sherlock looks back out of the window and I look down to my plate, going red and almost screaming from the awkwardness "Look across the street. Taxi." I look out of the window "Stopped. No-one getting in, no-one getting out." He says "Why a taxi?" He says to himself "Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"  
"That's him?" I ask.  
"Don't stare." I give Sherlock a look. Sherlock's staring at him.  
"You're staring at him?"  
"We can't both stare." He stands up and runs off, grabbing his jacket.  
"Honestly!" I get up and follow after him, grabbing my jacket before going out "Holmes!" He almost gets hit by a car "Sorry." I say as I vault over the car.

After a lot of running upstairs and downstairs and on rooftops, we catch up with the car. Turns out it wasn't the killer. Just a cab that happened to slow down. We had to run off back to 221 Baker Street afterwards because cops "That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done. You're ridiculous. You're utterly mad. Brilliant but utterly mad." I laugh when we get back, both of us leaning against the wall and trying to catch our breath.  
"You invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock says and I giggle, with Sherlock chuckling.  
"That wasn't just me! Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" I say when I stop laughing.  
"They can keep an eye out." Sherlock waves his hand dismissively "It was a long shot anyway."  
"What were we even doing there?"  
"Passing the time." He looks at me "Proving a point."  
"What point?"  
"You." I give him a confused look and he turns his head "Mrs Hudson! Dr Watson will take the room upstairs"  
"Says who?" Sherlock looks towards the front door and smiles.  
"The man at the door." I turn my head just as the door knocks three times. I look at Sherlock and then go to the door. Angelo is stood there with... My stick.  
"Sherlock texted me. He said you left this." He hands me my walking stick and I look at Sherlock then back to Angelo.  
"Umm, thanks." As I close the door, Mrs Hudson comes out of her flat and hurries over.  
"Sherlock, what've you done?" Her voice is upset and tearful.  
"Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock says worriedly.  
"Upstairs." We all run up and see DI Lestrade with other officers going through Sherlock's things.  
"I knew you'd find the case, I'm not stupid." Lestrade says casually from Sherlock's chair.  
"You can't just break into my flat!" The black-haired man fumes.  
"You can't withhold evidence, and I didn't break into your flat!"  
"Well, what do you call this?" Lestrade looks around at his officers and then looks innocently at Sherlock.  
"A drugs bust."  
"Seriously?" I ask with a laugh " **This** guy?" Sherlock turns and walks closer to me "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."  
"Jolie. You should probably shut up. Now." He mutteres from just to the side of me.  
"But come on." I look at Sherlock and we look at each other for a bit and I shake my head a bit "No."  
"What?"  
"You?!"  
"Shut up!" Holmes turns away from me "I'm not your sniffer dog."  
"No, Anderson is"  
"What, An…" The kitchen doors open and we look to see Anderson waving sarcastically "What are you doing here, on a drugs bust?"  
"Oh, I volunteered." He smiles smugly.  
"They all volunteered. They're not, strictly, on the drugs team but they were very keen."  
"Are these _Human_ eyes?" Sally steps into veiw holding a small jar.  
"Put them back!" Sherlock sighs angrilly.  
"They were in the microwave."  
"It's an experiment."  
"Keep looking guys!" Lestrade stands up "Or you could start helping us properly and I'll stand them down."  
"This is childish!" Sherlock says as he steps closer to Lestrade and glares.  
"I'm dealing with a child. This is our case, I'm letting you in, you can't just go on your own. Clear?" Sherlock glares at Lestrade harder.  
"So, you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?!"  
"It stops being pretend if we find anything."  
"I am clean!"  
"Is your flat? All of it?"  
"I don't even smoke" He rolls his sleeve up and shows a nicotine patch on his arm.  
"Neither do I." Lestrade rolls his sleeve up and shows his own patch "So let's work together." They both roll their sleeves back down "We found Rachel." That perks Sherlock back up and he looks over excitedly.  
"Who is she?!"  
"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter"  
"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name, why?"  
"Never mind now. We found the case!" Anderson says from the kitchen "According to _someone_ , 'the murderer has the case'. And we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath!"  
"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock says and I smile a bit as he turns to Lestrade "You need to bring her in and question her, I need to question her."  
"She's dead."  
"Is there a connection?" Sherlock asks with his eyes shining in excitement.  
"I doubt it; she was a still-born." Sherlock looks over at Lestrade in confusion.  
"That's not right, why would she do that? Why?"  
"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yep, 'Sociopath' I'm seeing it now" Anderson chimes in.  
"She didn't think about her daughter, she scratched her name on the floor, with her fingernails. She was dying! It took effort, it would have hurt." Sherlock says angrily again. Wow, these guys can really get on his nerves.  
"You said the victims took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Maybe he used the death of her daughter." Lestrade shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets.  
"That was ages ago, why would she still be upset?"  
"Holmes," I mutter as I shake my head and everyone is silent.  
"Not good?" The taller man asks awkwardly.  
"Bit not good"  
"Yea, but If you were dying, what would you say? In those last few seconds."  
"Please God, let me live." Sherlock scoffs a bit.  
"Use your imagination."  
"I don't have to." Sherlock is silent for a bit, giving me an apologetic look before continuing.  
"If you were clever! Really clever. Jennifer Wilson, she was clever. She's trying to tell us something!"  
"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here" Mrs Hudson walks in.  
"I didn't order a taxi! Go away." He starts pacing as the elder woman looks around at the mess of the flat.  
"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" Mrs Hudson says almost mournfully.  
"It's a drugs bust." I say, making Mrs Hudson look suddenly worried.  
"They're for my hip. Herbal Soothers." I give her a shocked look. Sherlock suddenly stops pacing, his back to the door.  
"Shut up everybody, shut up!" Sherlock suddenly shouts and quite a few people jump "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe, I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way, you're putting me off."  
"What? My face is?"  
"Everybody quiet and still, Anderson. Turn your back." Lestrade orders.  
"Oh for god's sake." Anderson says.  
"Your back, now, please." Lestrade shouts and Anderson turns dubiously.  
"Come one, think, quick." Sherlock mutters to himself.  
"What about your taxi?" Mrs Hudson asks, making Sherlock turn quickly.  
"MRS HUDSON!" He shouts, making Mrs Hudson hurry downstairs. Sherlock stops and looks around.  
"Oh." He smiles suddenly "She was clever! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead!"  
"Gee, thanks." I mutter under my breath.  
"Do you see? She didn't lose her phone; she planted it on the killer. When she got out of the car, she knew she was going to die. She left the phone so that it would lead us to her killer."  
"But how..?"  
"What do you mean 'How?'? Rachel! Don't you see?" I shake my head with a shrug and Sherlock laughs "Look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name! Jolie, on the luggage is a label. E-mail address." I hurry over to the case.  
"Err… Jennie dot pink at Mephone dot org dot uk." I say when I have the label.  
"She did all her business on her phone and we have her password." Sherlock's at his computer and is typing in the e-mail on the Mephone website "Altogether now, the password is..?"  
"Rachel." I say, walking over and standing behind him to look at the screen.  
"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson scoffs.  
"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street." I smile a bit "We can do much more than read her e-mails. It's a Smartphone, it has GPS. We can find the killer by tracking the phone."  
"Unless he got rid of the phone." Lestrade imputs.  
"We know he didn't." I say "I texted him and he called."  
"You what?" Lestrade asks but neither me nor Sherlock expands on it.  
"Sherlock, about this taxi..." Mrs Hudson mutters and Sherlock gets up so I sit down in front of the laptop, taking his place as the search continues.  
"Mrs Hudson, Isn't it time for your evening soother?" I look back to the two of them for a second and then back to the laptop "We need vehicles. A helicopter." There are footsteps going up (or down) the stairs "We're going to have to move fast. The battery won't last forever."  
"We'll just have a map, not a name."  
"It's a start!" Sherlock exclaims just as the map come up on the screen.  
"Sherlock." I say, though he doesn't hear.  
"It narrows it down from just about anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had."  
"Sherlock!" I turn my head and he rushes over, looking over my shoulder and placing both his hands on my shoulders as balence.  
"Where is it?"  
"It's here." I say confusedly.  
"What?!" Sherlock asks.  
"It's here. 221b Baker street." We both look at each other in confusion.  
"How?" I shrug as an answer and Sherlock sighs.  
"Maybe it was in the case when you brought it back. And it fell out somewhere." Lestrade says, which is impossible.  
"And Sherlock didn't notice it? Anyway, I texted him and he called back." But I'm ignored as Lestrade calls out.  
"RIGHT! We're searching for a phone as well." He calls to the cops. Sherlock is stood in the middle of the room when I turn and look at him.  
"Are you ok? Sherlock?"  
"I'm fine." He says vaguely.  
"How can the phone be here?" I ask and Sherlock shrugs, muttering a 'Dunno' "I'll try again… Where are you going?"  
"Just getting some fresh air, won't be long."  
"You sure you're alright?" I ask with a frown as he hurries downstairs.  
"I'm fine." He dismisses it with a wave of his hand.  
"Umm...ok."

A few seconds later, a car sets off and I go to the window with my phone, calling Jennifer's phone "He's gone. Sherlock just got in a cab and left."  
"I told you, he does that." Sally says "He bloody left again" She says to Lestrade and turns. "We're wasting our time!"  
"I'm calling the phone, it's ringing out" I say.  
"If it's ringing then it's not here."  
"I'll try the search again" I go to the laptop again and re-do the search.  
"Does it matter? Does any of it? He's a lunatic and he's wasting our time." Sally groans.  
"Ok everybody. Nothing here." Lestrade sighs and everyone packs up. I grab my jacket, getting ready to leave and I'm about to go when I realise I don't have my cane. I grab it and see the map on the laptop zooming in. I grab the laptop when I see the position of the phone and I set off, getting into a cab. As the cab is going, I try and call Lestrade "No. Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It's an emergency!"  
"Hello?" He says.  
"I know where the phone is."  
"Where?"

As the cab arrives at Roland-Kerr College, I run inside and run through the corridors "Holmes? Holmes?" I can see through the window that Sherlock is in the other building, the pill in his hand. With hardly any hesitation, I take my gun from my jeans and shoot the cabbie, running out of the room and the building quickly.

Sherlock is talking to Lestrade about the shooting probably and he looks around before catching my eye. We look at each other for a bit before I smile innocently and look away from him. He walks towards me a minute later "Sergeant Donovan just explained everything to me. Two pills? He gave them a choice. Dreadful."  
"Good shot" Sherlock says and I look down a bit, trying to play innocent.  
"Must have been. Through that window."  
"You'd know." I must be failing epically at looking innocent "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. Are you alright?"  
"Yea, fine, what about you?"  
"You **did** just kill a man." Sherlock points out and I sigh.  
"Yea, but... he wasn't very nice." Sherlock smiles.  
"No... No, he wasn't really, was he?"  
"No. He was a bloody awful cabbie."  
"That's true, he was a bad cabbie. You should've seen the route he took us to get here." We both laugh and get a few weird looks.  
"Stop it! We can't giggle at a crime scene. Stop it."  
"You're one who shot him." I slap him on the arm playfully because Sally is right there "Sorry." I mutter to the woman before laughing a bit.

"You were going to take the pill weren't you?" I ask and we both stop walking.  
"No, I was waiting for you."  
"No you weren't." I sigh "Don't lie."  
"Why would I lie?"  
"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock smiles at me and I laugh just a bit.  
"Dinner?" He asks and I smile at him.  
"Starving." We start walking again.  
"There's a nice place i know. End of Baker Street. Chinese stays open 'til two. You can tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." I nudge Sherlock, seeing the man who wanted me to spy on him.  
"Sherlock, that's the man I met, your 'archenemy'." Sherlock sighs a bit as he looks over.  
"I know _exactly_ who he is." He walks over, me in tow.  
"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited." The other man says with a smile.  
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock says sourly.  
"As always, I'm concerned about you."  
"I know, I've heard."  
"Did it occur to you that we should be on the same side?" The other man sighs and Sherlock pouts like a child.  
"No."  
"We have more in common than you want to believe. The feud is childish. People will suffer. You know how it upset mummy." I look between the two of them in utter confusion. Did he just..?  
" **I** upset her? Me? It wasn't _me_ who upset her, Mycroft."  
"Pretend that someone here has no clue what you're talking about." I say, making both of the men look at me.  
"This is my brother Mycroft." Sherlock says.  
"So he isn't a criminal?"  
"Close enough." Sherlock shrugs  
"For goodness sake! I occupy a minor position in the British Government." Mycroft sighs almost angrilly.  
"He _is_ the British Government when he's not too busy being the British Secret Services or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic. Come on Jolie!"  
"G'night." I say with a small wave to both Mycroft and Not-Anthea.  
"Goodnight Jolie Watson." I follow after the curly-haired Holmes.  
"So. Chinese." I say with a smile as I catch up to Sherlock.  
"Mmm. I can always predict the fortune cookies." I laugh a bit.  
"Liar."  
"Almost can." He says, giving me a look like it still counts "You did get shot though."  
"Hmm?"  
"In Afghanistan."  
"Yea. Shoulder."  
"Shoulder. Thought so." I shook my head.  
"No you didn't."  
"Left one."  
"Lucky guess." I pushed him a bit, like a child would.  
"I never guess." Sherlock pushed me back.  
"Yes you do." I see that he's grinning almost "What are you so happy about?"  
"Moriarty."  
"What?"  
"No clue"  
"You're mad."  
"You've said that before. You also called me brilliant?"  
"Shut it."  
"Why? I'm simply pointing out what you said."  
"Well, don't."  
"Why? Embarrassed?"  
"No. Just don't need your ego getting any bigger. We'd need another flat if it did." I smile and Sherlock laughs again. I look behind my shoulder and saw that Mycroft is giving both me and Sherlock some looks but I ignore it.

AN: This is my re-do. I've got spellcheck now and I can boss at this, even my own made up cases. Sorry that it was confusing the last time but I went through this phase of writing terrible things and thinking they were the best things ever written instead of a slightly less crappy 'My Immortal'.

I got a lot of the dialogue from arianedevere's Sherlock transcript on livejournal because I can't type as fast as people can talk. I did change the dialogue a bit because no-one is John level of 'duh'. I mean, really? A serial cheat leaves her phone at home? What idiot would think that? Not Jolie.

Anyway. Bad ending. Sorry for that ending. The second chapter is in production, but I'm having difficulty so if anyone has any suggestions then it'd be greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Right, this one was difficult to start, continue and finish, so don't expect the best from me right now. I just wanted to see a normal day in the weirdo house, but it kinda left me stumped. That and I'm an idiot._

Chapter Two: A day in the life

I wake when a loud bang and smash sounds from downstairs, making me have to take a second to collect my bearings. I'm in 221B Baker Street, London. It's…4am. And my flatmate must be doing something because who else would be blowing things up at 4am. Begrudgingly, I run a hand through my short hair and get up to go and investigate. There's no sign of Sherlock in the living room so I turn my head around the corner to look into the kitchen "What the hell are you doing?" I groan sleepily at him when I see him. He's in a dressing gown, some kind of experiment on the table and a very slight smell of smoke in the air.  
"It's 4am, Jolie, go to bed." Sherlock says casually, as though he hasn't just exploded a glass jar and glass is all over the table.  
"It's 4am, Sherlock, why aren't you in bed?" Sherlock gives me a look and I just return it with twice as much annoyance as he has because the bastard woke me up.  
"I'm busy." He says finally, looking back to his chaotic mess on the table.  
"Really? At **this** time? Can't it wait until later?" I ask with a sigh.  
"Probably." And then he ignores me and just carries on with his experiment or whatever it is. Deciding I'm almost definitely not going to convince him to go to bed, I rub my eyes and go to sit in the living room with a soft sigh "Why aren't you going to bed?" Sherlock asks, which I ignore. After a while, I can tell that Sherlock's gone back to whatever he's doing because I no longer feel eyes on me.  
"What are you _actually_ doing?" I ask after a few seconds of silence, other than the sound of Sherlock doing his experiment.  
"It's complicated." He says by way of explanation.  
"And, apparently, couldn't wait until morning. Do you ever **actually** sleep?"  
"Not really." Sherlock mutters and I rub my eyes. There's a sigh from the kitchen "If you're so tired, go back to bed."  
"I'll just wake up again." A second or so later, the sounds of the experiment resume and it's almost utter silence in the flat apart from clinking glass and the tapping of rain against the window. My head starts to droop to the side and I eventually give in to sleep with, thankfully, no explosions.

When I wake up, the sun has fully risen and there's a blanket softly covering me. I sit up and rub my eyes groggily while looking around just a bit "Morning dear." Mrs Hudson says and I turn in my chair to look at her. She's in the kitchen, the table completely cleared, and has seemed to have just finished making a cup of tea.  
"Mornin', Mrs Hudson." I grumble and run my hands across my face "What time is it?"  
"9:30." The elderly woman smiles and walks over with the mug, holding it out to me. I take it with a small thank you and then take the blanket off of me "I don't know what you were doing in that chair. It's not the comfiest place to sleep."  
"Sherlock woke me up." I explain before taking a sip of the tea "4am, some damn experiment or something, and I came down. Musta fallen asleep again." Mrs Hudson nods in understanding.  
"He isn't the type to stay sat down, or stay focused on much for too long. I think you'll be the one to change that." She pats me on the shoulder and I look at her in slight confusion.  
"Uh...Thank you, Mrs Hudson." I mumble uncertainly and she smiles before going downstairs without another word. It's quiet, considering the fact that it's London, and there's a faint static noise -but that could just be me hearing things- while a car breaks the almost perfect silence every once in a while. The sun is up enough for no lights to be turned on and casts a hazy glow around the room from the curtains which aren't properly closed, a ribbon of light missing hitting my eyes by just a few centimetres. It's peaceful, but I know that this peace is only the aftereffect of Rush Hour and it won't last. I take another sip from the mug and almost yawn but manage to conceal it with a sigh as I rub my eyes again.  
"Did you sleep well?" Sherlock asks as he walks in, making me jump as I didn't hear his bedroom door close.  
"No thanks to _someone_." I mumble and Sherlock gives me a slight look.  
"Your first night living here." He says as he goes to make himself a cup of tea, slotting some bread into the toaster as he waits for the lukewarm kettle to finish boiling "How was it?"  
"Nothing I didn't expect." I reply with another sigh to supress a yawn "Yesterday was...fun."  
"Fun?" Sherlock asks, sounding either shocked or slightly smug, and I nod once "Most people wouldn't call shooting someone fun." I smile softly and nod.  
"Most people wouldn't decide to live with someone who dragged them into a murder case." I retort and Sherlock nods in understanding before entering and sitting on the chair across from me, his tea and toast in his hands. He holds out the small plate to me and I look between him and the plate in confusion.  
"Take one." He offers and I shake my head "I don't believe that I asked you." He says and I dubiously take half a slice and bite into it. I've left my phone upstairs from last night (or this morning) so I preoccupy myself with trailing my finger across the faint patterns on the arm of the chair and picking at a loose bit of thread.  
"What do you do when you're not on cases?" I ask after a few seconds of silence. Sherlock shrugs softly.  
"What every normal person does when they have no work to do." I raise an eyebrow ever so slightly.  
"Like blowing up stuff at 4 in the morning?"  
"I occasionally do experiments. I need to find _some_ way to keep my mind active when I'm not doing anything better."  
"Experiments on what?" I lean forwards slightly, the toast placed on the arm of the chair and my mug clasped in my hands.  
"Anything and everything. I put most of them on my blog, which you may have seen."  
"Uh, yea, I think I saw some. Strange things really." Sherlock shrugs.  
"I need somethingto do." That gives me an idea, and it must show on my face because Sherlock gives me a confused look "What?" He asks.  
"Huh? Oh, nothing. Just...suddenly had an idea." I smile a bit and then finish off the last large mouthful of tea. After I finish the mug and place it down, I stretch with a heavy sigh and run my hand through my hair before covering my mouth as I yawn "Did you get any sleep?" I ask and Sherlock nods.  
"A few hours. I didn't get to finish my experiment." I pout softly in confusion.  
"Why not?"  
"Well, I decided that it would be too much of a hassle to do so early without any sleep so I'll finish it later." With a soft nod, I sigh and get up "Where are you going?" Sherlock asks.  
"Just getting my laptop. My, uh, therapist gives me a few things to help me take my mind off stuff." I explain with a soft smile "Just forgot to do them yesterday." Sherlock nods his understanding and I hurry off upstairs. Sitting cross-legged on my bed like a teenage girl writing a piece of fiction about her favourite TV show, I start typing quickly and the words ' _My new flatmate_ ' pop up on the screen. No matter how ridiculous it seems to me, I carry on typing. After all, Ella says I should put down my thoughts and, right now, it seems to be the best thing I can do. Anyway, it's not like anyone's going to read it. If they do, it's not like it's going to change anything.

* * *

 _2:19 PM_

Lay on her bed, under the thick and warm covers while clenching a small tiger soft toy, a young woman only just in her 20s is scrolling through a forum online with an incredibly fed-up look when she sees an interaction between two people, one that she is instantly very interested in. Something about a new flatmate and a blog and that stuff, so she clicks the link and starts reading the most recent entry with a smile on her face at the surprising new development:

 _My new flatmate_

After reading through the whole thing she gets up, leaving her soft toy hanging on the edge of her mattress dangerously, and pads quickly out of the room with a smile and soft skip in her step as she goes towards her boss. After all, this would greatly help them in what they want to do. Eventually, in childish joy, she ends up skipping into the room that her boss is "Guess what?" She trills and her boss looks at her expectantly.  
"What?" He asks with a slight interest because he told her two days ago not to leave her bedroom until she got something else for them, which would usually mean she'd stay there for days and almost weeks on end because she sometimes takes it too literally.  
"We have a new person in our game." She grins and her boss raises an eyebrow as he looks from her to his second-in-command, who is sat on the chair beside him.  
"Really? Who?"  
"Dr Jolie Watson. She's recently back in London from Afghanistan after being injured. Also recently living with Sherlock Holmes, as of yesterday after meeting two days ago." Everyone in the room, just the three of them, smile widely with hers being the widest. Her boss chuckles and then stands up and goes towards her with a smile on his face.  
"Well done." He says, cupping her cheeks in his hands and kissing the top of her head "My sweet little Bunny." The man turns to his second-in-command and smiles "Now, I think we have work to do." He looks back to his 'Bunny' and briefly strokes his finger across her cheek "Proud of you." He mutters and she smiles sheepishly before walking off with the second-in-command to start working.

* * *

My phone is ringing incessantly, and it's Harry for some reason. No matter if Harriet is worried or not, I am actually _very_ good at holding a grudge and I am very much still mad at my sister for everything. It isn't just because of Clara, not really much of it is Clara at all, but because of the drink. Harry had done stupid things when she was drunk, none of which I appreciated then or now and none of them that I want to revisit. So I ignore her. It's horrible, really, because she's my sister and she's worried but I'm busy. I don't know what with, but I'm busy. I'm still holed up in my room like an antisocial teenage girl, the sound of Sherlock's violin softly trailing up the stairs and under the door. It's not as annoying as I thought it would be. It's actually quite soothing, almost beautiful. Because I have very limited knowledge of any types of compositional music piece, other than the most famous ones, I don't know if he's composed it himself or not but it's still very nice. Just because it's intriguing me, I go back onto my blog and see that Harry wants to talk because of my blog entry. I'll answer in a bit, tell her the bare minimum and then get back to being busy with nothing. I should probably try and get a job, look around for stuff. Cos Sherlock doesn't seem like he's going to get one and he doesn't get paid for what he does, so I might as well. Probably something medical, since I've got a lot of experience in that.

There's a knock on my door and I look up "Yea?" I say and then the door opens, showing Mrs Hudson's smiling face.  
"Hello dear, I was just wondering how your first night here was." She steps into my room fully and I smile widely.  
"It was great, Mrs Hudson. I think I'll like it here."  
"Amazing to hear that." She sighs "You know, I've known Sherlock fairly well for a good time now and you are the first person I can remember that he has an interest in." The elderly woman says matter-of-factly.  
"Is that a compliment or should I be worried?" I joke and Mrs Hudson laughs softly as well.  
"Definitely a compliment. It takes a certain type of person to get Sherlock interested and I still haven't figured it out even **with** you here." I look at her with a soft smile of confusion.  
"Really?"  
"He's not the most social person."  
"I guessed." I sigh softly and look back at my computer for a second "How's your day been so far, Mrs Hudson?"  
"Oh, well I went next door to talk to-" She starts and I smile fondly as I'm dragged through a minute-by-minute description of her day. By dragged, I mean **dragged**. I don't really mind though. She's nice, and reminds me of my grandmother. Regardless of how strange Sherlock seems, and how weird his lifestyle is, it's actually normal sometimes. All of what Mrs Hudson does is normal, uninterrupted by Sherlock mostly, and he apparently does usual things when not surrounded by murder. I'm starting to like it here, surprisingly. I did get a text or two from Mycroft, asking me to reconsider his offer, but I couldn't. I think after my third 'no thanks' he got the hint. Sure, Sherlock said that I should but it just wouldn't feel right to spy on him and report back to the world's most hostile-yet-caring big brother. Mycroft does seem like an alright guy though, if a bit overbearing. There's little childish rivalry between the boys, which I can slightly sympathise with. Before my issue with Harry, we had another falling out. Childish, really, but then our Aunt died and we met up at her funeral. Funny, isn't it, how death can bring people together? But then the marriage and all that "Are you OK, Jolie?" Mrs Hudson asks and I nod gently "I'm not boring you, am I?"  
"Oh, no, Mrs Hudson. I'm just... Distracted, I guess." I smile softly at her and push my hair behind my ear "Carry on."


End file.
